


The Last Stand

by ShapeshiftingTango



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Meme, author death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShapeshiftingTango/pseuds/ShapeshiftingTango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meme: War of the Roleplayers: Muses Attack<br/>I had to write a short drabble/fic of myself, the mun or roleplayer, confronting my muse, who just so happens to be Theodore Bagwell from Prison Break, in a last battle.<br/>Backstory is that the muses turn on the muns, jumping out of computers all over the world. The attack their creators/writers, trying to kill them for what I can assume is anger based on all the shit we make them do.<br/>Anywhore, my drabble/fic is based sometime down the line. I've been obviously running for my life for a while and T-Bag is getting ever closer to catching me. Oh hot diggity dog, do I not want that to happen. Anybody who knows anything about the guy would agree with me there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Stand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [War of the Roleplayers: Muses Attack](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/32822) by inboxideas.tumblr.com. 



> I don't know how I feel about the y'all knowing my name but if I am okay with posting it on tumblr, then I am okay with it here. It is only the first name anyway.

Kypton held his breath, his back pressed tight to the bark of a tree. The tree was dead, all the trees were dead. This world was dead and dark and quiet. So quiet except for the distant sounds of the battle. One day the world was ripped apart as the muses took stand against the muns, tired of being controlled. Being told what to do; no more, they said, and they took up arms.   
What was that?  
A twig cracked. Could be an animal, no. It was too heavy, precise. Kypton squeezed his eyes shut, begging for his thoughts to be incorrect. Scratching up the courage to peak around the tree, he saw nothing. No one was in sight; not man, nor beast, nor wild creature of some mythical AU. But that couldn’t be right, he had heard the twig crack not too far away. A few meters maybe…  
Gods damn him for choosing such a violent muse! This was bullshit.  
Another crack. Much closer. A meter? Maybe two, but was on the other side of the tree’s trunk. Just out of view. Kypton shuffled, trying to make as little noise as he could manage, leaning precariously out away from the tree.   
A knife zipped passed his head, slicing open his cheek. "Ahhhh! For fuck’s sake…" He hissed, ducking back and then running like the devil were on his heals. In a way, he was.  
"You can run, boy, but it ain’t like won’t find ya. Again, n’ again n’ again…" Bagwell’s words grew quieter as his mun dashed through the heavily vegetated forest. Twigs whipped at his face and arms, bruising hi and cutting him open. Still he ran. He couldn’t let that sick bastard get close to him. He knew ever so intimately how that would end. He’d written a thousand endings with other characters but it was different, writing the demise of someone fiction and having that man sneering before your very eyes.  
And he would find Kypton again. Just like he said. It was as if the muse had some connection to his mun. One that Kypton did not share. The man did not need to run after the young man for he seemed to always know inherently where he was.  
He had to come up with a plan, running wasn’t working at all. He was tired, dragging in laborious breathes and his muscles burned like nothing he’d ever felt before. Actually, he felt like he was going to hurl. He was fatigued and terrified. This was it, the last stand. It was going to be him or Bagwell. End of story. He couldn’t do this forever.  
Just as the decision was mentally made, he rounded some particularly prickly bushes. There stood a run down shack, a shed. Something some hunter probably built here long before the muses attacked. It wasn’t fairing well and had probably been ransacked, but it would do. it was something Kypton could barricade himself in. He could fortify it.   
The mun pushed against the door but it was stuck. Pressing his shoulder against it he tried again, shoving at the wood with all his might. Finally it lurched open by but a few inches. Whatever was holding it closed moved with it. Slowly he inched it open enough to slide inside and what he smelled in there was the worst thing he could have imagined. Rotting death filled that small space, the body of a broken mun pressed tight against the door, bloated and decomposing.  
"Oh no. No, no, no, no." He felt sick, he couldn’t look at the body. He wasn’t prepared for a life like this. He was a writer, an artist, a computer dork who watched television shows all day. Not some adventure jock, not a fighter or survivalist. Covering his face with his t-shirt torn to shit by the trees and bushes, it hardly blocked a thing; he grabbed the body by the ankle and dragged it out of the shed. Leaving behind a trail of nasty. Coagulated blood, that’s all Kypton could come up with for what that smear could be. Then he did hurl. He blew his cookies all over the grass.  
Once emptied, his stomach tried to turn inside out. Retching nothing but bile; he kneeled in the dead leaves. Finally, it calmed and he was able to rise, to think. He quickly covered the body in a pile of leaves and disappeared within the darkness of the shed once more.   
Do you hear the  people sing? Singing the song of angry men. It is the music of the people…..when the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums…  
Kypton hummed, trying to calm himself as he slid racks of heavy tools from wall to wall. Blockading the door from any entry. He knew his time was running down. He could almost feel the seconds slipping by.  
"Kypton….Oh, Kypton…ya there? I know y’er there. I can hear ya breath gettin’ all caught up in y’er throat. A mouse hidin’ away from the lion, how cute. How quaint." Bagwell half sang, circling the shed.  
Shit he’s here too soon. It’s not ready!  
 It had but one door. One way in, one way out. He could easy wait there, starve Kypton out if he had to. But he wouldn’t, the mun knew he wouldn’t; T-Bag was much too impatient. He would try to force his way in. Kypton pressed his weight against the racks against the door, hoping and praying that it was enough to keep the murderer at bay.  
It wasn’t.  
T-Bag threw his weight at the door with a running start, his weigh greatly exceeding that of the kid inside. It rocked the racks. Those racks with heavy tools that slid from back to front. They slid and shift the weight too much. It all came tumbling down, trapping the mun with the muse in a very small space in the middle of the woods with not a single weapon in hand. “Tsk, tsk, not y’er best idea, writer.” Bagwell grinned through the crack in the door. He pushed, shove the racks even farther; opening that crack enough to slide through.   
He wielded a sharp knife that glinted in the small amounts of light leaking through the cracks in the old shed. Shit, shit, shit. This can’t be happening. "Teddy, come on. We can work this out. I never made you do anything too out of character, I swear."Begging. He’d resorted to begging a man he knew never did a damn thing for beggars. God was he fucked, so fucked. Probably literally fucked. His heart skipped a beat. Or maybe ten. He felt like he was going to pass out, but there was no way he could do that with all the adrenaline flooding his system.   
"Ya know, we can work somethin’ out here. What y’er gonna do is, y’er gonna turn ‘round n’ put her hands on that there wall while I fuck ya raw. Then y’er gonna die, bleedin’ n’ sputterin’ with my blade buried in y’er gullet. How’s that sound?" He licked his lips, the fucker licked his lips like Kypton had written him doing time and time again. It was worse in person, so much worse. It was like he was some sort of deranged animal imagining the taste of his prey. Maybe was doing just that, imagining the sweet taste of killing the man that gave him life in those roleplays.  
Too much life, it seemed. Because the fucker jumped off the webpage. "That’s not even close to what I had in mind." Think, Kye, think. Ripping a wrench from the floor, Kypton lunged at his would be attacker. With what he hoped would be a mighty roar to go down in the history books, he struck out. His weapon connected, smashing Bagwell’s face to the side and popping his jaw out of place. The man didn’t stagger, didn’t scream. No agony. He just glared and with a grunt, pushed his jaw back into place.   
"Y’er gonna regret that, boy." Kypton swung wildly, frantically trying to hit T-bag wherever he could as often as he could but the older man tackled him to the floor with a shoulder to his gut. He knocked the roar from Kypton’s lips with a breathy oof as they hit the floor together. Bagwell straddled the young man’s hips, beating his face in like kids did a pinata. Strike after strike after strike and the world was rocking and blurry and blood was flowing from his nose and his cut cheek and his busted lip and a fresh crack on his eyebrow.   
He squirmed, fingers stretched out on the ground trying in vain to find something, anything to fight back with. But there was nothing. His wrench slid just beyond his reach in the fall. Curling his hands into fists he jabbed at the other’s ribs. They met their mark but they did not pack the strength they used to. His arms were heavy with pain and mind addled with each time it struck the concrete beneath him.   
"Givin’ up so easily? I thought ya’d have somethin’ in ya…." Bagwell leaned close, grabbing’ each side of the mun’s face in his hands. But it was lights out in that dome. His eyes were open but no one was home. "Pity." The older man rolled his eyes, releasing the kid below him. He snatched up his pocket knife from the floor.   
Kypton’s mouth moved as if to scream, to beg, to do anything but nothing came out. Not but wet gurgle as the blade found its final home. Deep in his belly just like T-Bag had promised. Then he retracted and stabbed him again. And again. So many holes and each leaking red and the world around Kypton rocked. It swirled and the colors faded and dimmed and went dark.   
The last he heard; “Too bad ya won’t be here fer the fun part, Writer…”

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought it would be so fun to write my own death by a character I control on almost a daily basis. But it was; it was a whole bucket full of joy. Though I gotta say, I did disturb myself a bit while writing it. Heart beat up in my throat as I imagined my death the hands of T-Bag, whose wouldn't be though. Am I right? or am I right?


End file.
